Games of Blood, of War, of Desire
by Dawn-Of-Indescribable-Colors
Summary: Katniss and Peeta were not the first "star-crossed" lovers in the Hunger Games. In the tradition's 66th year, two tributes are thrown into the arena, and in the face of death, cannot escape their desires. WARNING: SEXUAL CONTENT/VIOLENCE/COARSE LANGUAGE.
1. Think She'll Be Reaped?

**Okay, so here's a new one I thought of. Those of you reading Broken Open, Frosted and Like Madmen, I think you'll enjoy it. :) This is not the 74th Hunger Games, but the 66th-and these tributes are nothing short of violent, fire-jawed and sex-crazed. EXERCISE CAUTION, YOUNGLINGS. SEXUAL CONTENT. (Not in this chapter, but later.) Hope you guys like it. Listen to:**

**The Burden - Memphis May Fire**

**Enjoy :)**

**_Chapter One_  
**

**_Think She'll Be Reaped?_**

"Watch where you hold the wire!" Adrian shouted, shocking me out of my trance. "One wrong move and you short out the Capital."

Grumbling in frustration, I lifted the wire I was holding away from the outlet, twisting the end to dull it.

"Where's your mind today?" he shook his head at me.

"Where everybody else's are-including yours," I snapped, rolling myself back under the engine and cranking the screw back into place. "What the hell was wrong with this one anyway? The gear work is fine."

"Gerod said it was busted. Locomotive wouldn't start."

"Oh, well it's the fuse then," I rolled my eyes at him. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

He scowled at me and my sour mood. I really shouldn't have been speaking to him the way I was. On better days, we were almost friends. But today was nothing like better days. Today was the worst day.

Today was Reaping Day.

As if reading my thoughts, Adrian sighed, "Nyx, why don't you head on home? Reaping's not 'til seven. Get some sleep."

I shook my head, "I can't sleep."

Adrian dropped his wrench, coming to stand over me and frowning. "You're worried," he accused.

"I'm not worried. Just on edge."

But my gut disagreed with me, churning like mad.

"Don't lie to me," he warned. "How many times are you in?"

I just shook my head again.

"Answer me, Nyx."

"Jesus, Adrian-just let it go. It won't matter. In a few hours, someone else'll be picked and we'll be back to doing the same thing we do every day."

With an intake of breath, it seemed to dawn on him. "It's not you. You're worried about Carson."

Glaring at him, I threw down my wrench and rolled out from under the engine, "Stop assuming. You know what they say when you assume..."

"Save it. I'm right, aren't I?"

"What does it matter?" I threw on my coat, buttoning it slowly but firmly.

"It matters." His eyes were bright with both caution and concern, staring at me like I'd never seen him stare before.

Shaking my head a final time, I turned the latch, "See you in the Circle."

Cold air blasted against me as I made my way up the stairwell from underground. I fisted my hands in my pockets, hopping over the dozen or so train tracks and heading back toward the populated part of the district.

It hurt to know that Adrian was right.

I _was_ worried about Carson.

My story, I will admit, is a strange one. People always ask me how my family got separated. How I ended up here, in the wet, muddy wasteland of District 6 with my father, while my mother and two brothers were left in District 3.

I always try to blame it on a big family argument that never happened-try to say that my mother was unfaithful, and that's why my dad and I left.

But it's all lies.

We left because my mother saw something in me that she didn't like-and disowned me.

My father refused to abandon me, and so she divorced him too, throwing us out on the streets to fend for ourselves.

We stowed away on an old coal transport train, which of course led us to the transport district.

6.

My heaven and my hellhole, all at once.

Normally, I could just convince myself that the other part of my family no longer existed. For the most part, it worked too.

But not today.

Carson, my eldest brother, had just turned twelve.

He was eligible.

Add to that, he'd already signed up for tesserae. His name was in that ball far too many times for comfort.

I shuddered at the thought, or maybe just at the cold wind, and knocked my wet boots against my porch before entering our small cabin.

My father was already dressed, standing before our only mirror in the finest clothes he owned. Honestly, they weren't very fine at all, but they weren't torn or covered in mud, and therefore they'd have to do.

"Hi, flower," he smiled at me through his reflection, and I came up behind him to straighten his jacket.

"You look very fetching."

"Really? I'm beginning to think I'm too old for this..."

"What-living?" I mocked, grinning at him as I turned him round to fix his tie.

His smile was gone, however, and he asked the question I knew he'd ask.

"How many times was it again?"

I sighed, smoothing down his lapels, "We've been over this, Papa. 24 times. That's it."

He echoed my sigh and faced the mirror once more, "I suppose it could be worse."

I forced myself to smile, "Yes-exactly. You know Marcia Grant? Her name is in 68 times. Imagine that."

"Poor girl," he clicked his tongue. "Think she'll be Reaped?"

There was an uncomfortable silence.

And then I whispered,

"Yes...I have that feeling."

My father did that thing he always does when he tries to diffuse tension. He rolled his shoulders and plastered a fake grin on his face, "You're not really wearing _that_, are you?"

I thumped him once on the back before sticking out my tongue and heading over to the small wardrobe we shared.

There wasn't much.

In the end, I selected a small black skirt and tucked the only white blouse I owned into it. I slid my worn feet into the old, fraying moccasins I'd stitched for myself when I was younger, and went to stand beside my father at the mirror.

"Ah," he smiled. "You look lovely."

I laughed, "I wish, Papa. I wish."

Shaking his head at me, he moved into the kitchen, leaving me to size myself up.

My eyes were paler than usual this day-a sort of dull, mint green when they were normally the color of pine trees. The wire burn on my cheek, jetting dark across my skin from my left eye to my jaw, looked particularly angry.

The mass of dark brown corkscrews fell to my waist as usual, and its color only seemed to accentuate how pale I was.

All my scars-all the little cuts I'd acquired of the years-seemed more visible today than ever.

And I had a feeling it was a sign.


	2. People Are Staring

**BOOM! Two chapters in three hours! I will await my medal on my front porch! Haha. Anyway, here's #2! Listen to:**

**Shadows Die - Black Veil Brides (I STRONGLY RECOMMEND THIS ONE! It really captures the nightmarish feel of the chapter.)**

**Enjoy :)**

**_Chapter Two_  
**

**_People Are Staring_**

It took me a long while to realize what they were all staring at.

Did I have something on my shirt? Hell, I wouldn't be the only one.

Town Circle was already filled with potential tributes, slowly meandering to their sections, and the young and old were crowded up behind, illuminated by the street lights.

But when I filled my empty spot in the 17-year-old section, they all turned to look at me, expressions of...dare I say _pity_...on their faces.

"What?" I promptly snapped, turning around, "what are you staring at?"

A girl I didn't recognize tapped my shoulder and pointed at the TV screen, high strung in the night sky.

The cameras were focused on me, for god knows what reason-a major, invasive close-up on my face. Reporters instantly launched themselves into the crowd upon my arrival, shoving people aside to get to me.

"Miss Weaver, how do you feel about this sudden blow?" one accosted me.

"How are you coping with the news?"

"Are you proud for your brother?"

At that I froze, staring the specific reporter straight in the eyes.

Everyone went silent.

"What?" I breathed. "What about my brother?"

As if on queue, the speakers on the street lights around us burst to life-the annoying Capital accents filling the air as two talk show hosts discussed the Reapings that had already happened in other districts, whose Reapings were in the mornings.

"Holly, I especially want to draw your attention to District 6 right now. Their Reaping is about to take place, as you know, but there's an underlying story many people don't know about."

A photo of Carson was suddenly blazing upon the screen, and I felt my face drain of color.

"Now, I know you all recognize him. This is our male tribute from District 3-"

I heard nothing more.

I didn't care how close the cameras from our district were focused on my face.

I screamed.

"NO! CARSON! _NO GOD PLEASE!"_

The surrounding crowd gasped at my outburst, watching me as I fell to the ground in horror, screaming my lungs out.

Peacekeepers were running into the Circle, trying to get to me before I did something foolish.

And then I saw it.

That same fucking talk show was discussing _me._

"What many people _don't _know is that his older sister Nyxon Weaver resides in District 6. Let's take a look at her reaction to her brother's Reaping."

And seconds later, they cut to me, screaming what I had just screamed not moments ago.

My hands clenched into fists at my sides.

Those.

Fucking.

_Bastards._

They had filmed it on purpose-so that the people of the Capital could have a little more entertainment tonight.

"Heartbreaking, isn't it?" one of the talk-show hosts cooed.

I'd had quite enough.

By the time the first Peacekeeper reached me, I was hunched over, vomiting.

Later, I knew I would look back on this moment and think of myself as pathetic, but right now I couldn't stop it. I felt sick.

Sicker than I had ever felt in my life.

Little Carson.

My precious baby brother...

He was going to the Games.

Right then, I'm not sure it would've made much difference had I picked myself up and smiled or thrown myself off a building.

Something inside of me snapped.

I slowly climbed to my feet, wiping my mouth and enduring the more ferociously staring crowd.

I didn't want their pity.

I wanted this to end...right now.

But that was going to happen. This was Panem, after all-and one most always endure, endure, _endure._

So I forced my face into an expression that was cold, and nothing short of callous. Inwardly, I wondered where my father was-what he was thinking.

Oh, god-the blow would probably kill him.

But I knew there was only one thing I could do.

I turned to face the stage, refusing to acknowledge the reporters or the cameras or even my fellow district people as they patted my shoulders consolingly.

I stared ahead and waited for my turn.

It took roughly twenty minutes-twenty _agonizing_ minutes of awkward silence-for our district escort to take the stage.

Spectus Dame had been District 6's escort for three years now. He was wild looking-but, I suppose, compared to the rest of the people from the Capital-actually quite normal. His skin was dyed silver, and his hair to match, sticking up at outrageous angles.

But what was perhaps an even stranger sight was that of our district mentor.

Kendon.

He must've had a million piercings, rings going through his nose, his brows his ears and lips, seemingly to no end. He was tall and thin, wearing a dark blue suit, and his matted brow hair hung around his eyes.

People say he used to be handsome, before he got addicted to Morphling. Even now I could see the light glaze in his brown eyes, and at my distance that was quite a feat.

People also said he took care of his tributes...but District 6 hadn't won in years.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Spectus went to the podium, "we give you our nation's anthem."

They began to play the Capital's song through our almost hostile silence, and when it was finished, there was no applause.

People were still trying to get my attention.

Spectus went through the Treaty of Treason, and then the rules of the Games, and then finally approached the girls' Reaping ball.

"For our first tribute!" he called out, and if possible the crowd grew quieter. He dug his hand through the paper slips slowly, almost as if teasing us, and then finally returned to his microphone.

"Darcy Macmillan!"

She was not ten feet away from me.

I heard her scream-heard her mother's scream about a hundred yards away-and watched her promptly faint in her friend's ams.

My time for thinking was up.

"I volunteer!" I announced, my voice so loud in the restored silence that it felt like a roar. But it was steady...and that was all I cared about.

Practically giddy with delight, the reporters around me shoved their questions in my face and I once again appeared on the monitor high above.

The collective gasp from the crowd could probably have been heard for miles.

And so could my father's cries.

I shut my eyes tightly for a moment, trying to block it all out and take deep breaths. The magnitude of what I'd just done hit me relentlessly, and it took all I had not to go down like a paperweight.

"My, my," Spectus purred into the mic, "we've not had a volunteer in many 'a moon. Come, my dear...let me see your face."

Swallowing down the bile in my throat, I pushed through the crowd to the front, feeling thousands of pairs of eyes on my back all the way.

Spectus grinned more openly at me when he could see me clearly. I took the steps to the stage at a careful pace, praying not to fall.

And then I stood before him-before all of Panem-and could do nothing but fist my hands at my sides and stare, stiff as a board.

"Oh, but goodness you are _gorgeous!" _Spectus motioned for me to turn in a circle, and I did so.

"My god, those_ eyes..."_

He went on and on like this for several minutes until he realized we still lacked a tribute with testosterone. When he stepped away, I breathed for the first time.

"And for our male tribute!"

His hand dug into the ball, the paper crunching under its weight.

"Chamberlain Philips!"

There was a loud _whoop_ and a boy rushed forward. To my shock, he seemed pleased-excited, even.

I'd never met him-but then again, I didn't tend to hang around the potential Career types.

I know we aren't a Career district, but there are still those occasional, monstrously trained boys.

And Chamberlain was one of them.

By god, he was one of them.

He was not the type I was likely to form an alliance with in the arena. His face was square and sharp, with eyes blacker than coal and a body the size of a battering ram.

My lip curled in disgust, but before I could turn away, Spectus boomed, "Ladies and gentlemen! Your tributes!"

The crowd's applause was delayed and dazed.

"Tributes, shake hands," he commanded.

Chamberlain took my hand so roughly I feared he'd break all of my fingers.

No...

We would _not_ be allies in the Arena.


	3. Silver Machines

**Whew! That's a lot of chapters for one day! But I can't help it-I'm inspired! :) I promise, the male tribute in question will be present in the next chapter, which will be up either later tonight or tomorrow. Listen to:**

**Going In Blind - P.O.D.**

**Enjoy :)**

**_Chapter Three_  
**

**_Silver Machines_**

I never said goodbye to my father.

I knew how painful it would be-and I couldn't stomach it.

No, the only person I permitted to see me was Adrian. We'd worked together for five years in the engine rooms. And yet we weren't close enough to be family.

He was the only person i could think of that would be most likely to give me advice.

To not cry.

I sat on the plush, red couch in our district's Capital building, staring up at him as he stared down on me.

Finally, he spoke-and it was with a rush of breath and closed eyes.

"Jesus, Nyx. You've really shot yourself in the foot this time."

A humorless laugh spilled from my lips.

"I had to."

"I know," he nodded fiercely. "Carson."

A choking sound rocked its way out of me, and I shot up from the couch to fling my arms around his neck.

He gasped in surprise, knocked backwards by my force, but then his arms tightened around me.

Neither of us were crying...only holding each other.

"How could this happen?" I whispered.

He hummed against my shoulder, "I don't know." The soothing hand he ran up and down my back began to loosen my knotted muscles. "I don't know..."

I pulled away gently, "I'll protect him. That's all I can do." And with a casual shrug, I looked to the floor.

"Hey," Adrian took my chin in his hand, lifting it and forcing me to meet his eyes, "listen to me. You must also protect _yourself." _

There was a long pause, but I nodded.

"And whatever you do, don't team up with Philips-"

I didn't give him a chance to finish.

"I know that, Adrian! God, trust me...I know."

He bit his lip, "Alright. Good."

Another awkward silence.

But then we heard the Peacekeepers marching evenly down the hall outside, and he panicked.

"Look," he dug deep into his pocket, "I made this for you a long time ago. I wanted to give it to you for your birthday, but..." he trailed off, holding out to me an interesting entanglement of wires.

It was a bracelet.

"You should...use that as your token," he breathed, gazing at me sadly.

My eyes shot to his, "Don't do that!"

"What?" he stepped back, aghast.

"Act sad! I-I don't...I don't want you to be sad for me! I want you to focus on Carson."

He laughed tiredly, "No deal, Nyx. I'm betting this month's salary on _you." _

And then the Peacekeepers were there, wrenching him away from me-and I never had a chance to respond.

It felt like an hour I sat there on that couch, staring straight ahead in a daze, but it had probably only been a few minutes.

The Peacekeepers didn't knock. They just threw the door open wide and granted my Morphling-addicted mentor access to the room.

Kendon leaned back against the wall, seemingly sizing me up with his eyes. His hands were thrust casually into his pockets-and I almost wanted to scream at him. To remind him of the seriousness of the situation.

"Brave thing you did," he murmured. "For your brother, I assume."

"You know what they say when you assume..." I ground out, finding it so strange that it was the very thing I'd said to Adrian that morning.

He chuckled, "But what if I only said I was assuming, when really I _know." _

"I am happy for you," I said quietly. "Please be omniscient somewhere else."

Kendon cocked an amused brow, "Interesting. You seem smart, Weaver girl. Maybe you'll survive the Bloodbath."

Next I knew, he'd nodded his head at the Peacekeepers, and they were ushering me out of my seat none too gently, leading me to the train station.

No one from our district was there to see us off.

I suspected they'd closed the doors, but perhaps that was just to make myself feel better.

Chamberlain looked right pissed about it. I'd already pinned him as one who liked the fame. He climbed noisily onto the train without so much as a glance at me, while I stared in awe at the locomotive.

So this was what Adrian and I spent all our time building engines for?

I wasn't disappointed.

It was a beautiful machine, all silver and sleek-like a metal blade right after it's forged. Kendon actually had to push me aboard to get me to stop ogling it.

Its inside was like a palace, to me, though my district partner made himself comfortable enough, sprawling lazily across one of the chaise lounges.

Spectus appeared in the doorway just as the train lurched forward, and I had to grab the window ledge for support.

"There she is," he grinned, striding swiftly to me with the grace of someone who'd been riding trains for a lifetime. "How is our little Nyxon faring?"

I didn't like how he called me little.

I was 5'8-and he hand't even the chance to see my build yet.

All the muscle I'd gained from years of trekking through our rocky hills was hidden beneath my blouse. I suppose I just looked like a regular girl.

"Do another spin for me, will you? I'm trying to figure out how to describe you to your stylists."

My brow creased, "My stylists?"

He barked with laughter, "Oh, my dear, you are _adorably_ naive."

And then he flounced away, muttering something about a "delicate flower" and completely forgetting the spin.

All these cryptic things were giving me a headache, but when I moved to the couch, Chamberlain only stretched out further, denying me room.

I growled under my breath, "I'm just going to _love _your company..."

Kendon reminded me he was present by laughing, and I jumped, startled.

"Come on, Weaver...you look like you could use something to eat."

As if on cue, my stomach made a loud, embarrassing noise-but the thought of eating didn't appeal to me.

I would throw it all up, I was sure.

"No, thank you..." I whispered. "Is there a compartment where I can change?"

He eyed me strangely, twisting his lip ring as if trying to decipher a puzzle. Then he gave a light shrug, "Of course. Nayla," he called, and a young woman in a chef's uniform appeared at his side. "Take Miss Weaver to her room, if you please."

"Right this way, Miss," she said, taking my hand.

I could already sense this was going to be a long ride.


	4. The Boy From 7

**Alright, I HAD to let you meet him tonight...even if nobody's still up. Haha :) Listen to:**

**Gotta Be Somebody's Blues - Jimmy Eat World (YOU HAVE TO HAVE TO HAVE TO LISTEN TO THIS ONE IF YOU WANT TO TRULY UNDERSTAND THE SEXINESS OF THIS CHARACTER! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!)**

**Enjoy :)**

**_Chapter Four_  
**

**_The Boy From 7_**

The television set had been tempting me ever since Nayla had taken me to my small, yet extravagant compartment. Everything was made from fine, polished cherrywood, and it smelled of lilacs and pine.

I wanted to see the Capital News-wanted to know what was happening out there...but it would mean I risked seeing my brother's Reaping.

Or worse.

My own.

It was a losing battle from the start, I suppose. After about ten minutes of mental turmoil, I finally coaxed myself into grabbing the thin remote control off the table and switching the damned thing on.

I let out a breath of relief, finding the news cameras focused entirely on District 7, whose escort had just walked onto the stage for their Reaping.

It was the first time I'd seen District 7.

But, by god, it was beautiful.

The Capital Building was built of fine wood, surrounded by a mass of dark, thickly green trees. A mountain, shrouded in mist, was visible in the distance.

And the sky was cloudy-a gray, brooding overcast-as if about to rain.

My favorite.

"Ladies first!" their overzealous escort cried, practically skipping to the Reaping ball. The cameras zoomed in to get a close-up of her fingers as they seized the first slip.

Clearing her throat, she read into the microphone, "Maybell Hanes."

I could clearly see the victim. She was in the front row-a thirteen-year-old. Instantly, the poor girl burst into tears.

I sat back on the bed, breathing deeply and trying not to get too furious as I watched. It was the way the Capital covered it-as if it were a wonderful celebration-watching the people break down and send their children to their deaths.

Trembling, the little girl took her place on the stage, and her escort whispered something excitedly in her ear.

This only made the girl go paler, and she threw a hand over her mouth.

"Now, for the gentlemen." The escort had the nerve to wiggle her eyebrows suggestively at the crowd.

I was very close to switching the television off again, if only from sheer disgust.

But then she called the boy's name.

"Donovan Libby."

A loud girl's shriek sounded from the crowd, and the cameras zeroed in on the commotion in the center of the square.

The girl looked to be about eighteen, and she was clinging to the boy with abandon, screaming and weeping.

They must've been lovers.

As Peacekeepers started to pull the Donovan boy away, another voice sounded from the crowd. A low, sensual sound that made the hair on the back of my neck stand on up.

"I volunteer."

The camera crew looked to be struggling to find its source.

For a moment, the lens swung this way and that, blurring on the television before finally settling on the owner.

Oh god.

I dropped the remote.

At first, I had thought that it might've been the boy's brother who volunteered for him-but I was much mistaken.

No, this boy didn't look anything like the other.

Straight, jet-black hair dusted across his forehead, framing his face so perfectly it was almost abnormal. His skin bore a golden tan-as if he'd worked long hours in the sun, but not enough to burn.

Fucking hell, the close-up was intoxicating me.

He had eyes as fierce as hellfire-a striking, obliterating, gunmetal gray-and they were staring straight through the lens, at all of Panem.

Shamelessly.

His nose was slightly crooked, perhaps from being broken one too many times, and his lips were full and soft looking.

I followed the smooth creases of his neck to the collar of his ragged, black button-down.

He had a chest so broad and so powerful, I didn't even want to think about it.

My eyes swept over the curve of his shoulders, sloping magnificently for what seemed like forever.

He was very tall.

Maybe 6'4.

And he had the body of a lumberjack-as his district entailed. Long and lean and beautifully carved.

The camera cut to a wide shot, and I was shocked to lose sight of him, nearly falling backward on the bed.

What the hell was that?

That girl had started screaming again-but this time for him. For this dark, handsome stranger...

I didn't even think about where my thoughts were going-the way I was looking at my fellow_ tribute. _Someone I would have to kill to save my brother...

It appeared there was some sort of love triangle between this girl, the boy that was Reaped and the volunteer.

Add to that, the crowd seemed to know what was going on.

"Come, come," the escort beckoned, and the tall boy strode steadily onto the stage.

Oh my god, I had to stop looking at him.

The things I was thinking were wrong...

Even the escort seemed to be fawning over him, batting her eyelashes and the like. He ignored her pointedly, staring at the screaming girl as she was dragged from the square.

"And what is _your _name, handsome?" the escort cooed.

"Axelus," he breathed. I groaned, falling back and hitting the pillows.

The name alone caused fluttering sensations in my gut.

"Last name?" the escort probed.

"Creed."

Oh, kill me.

How was I supposed to face this boy in the arena? How was I supposed to look upon that and see death?

I could tell you several things that came to mind from looking at him, but none of them had anything to do with violence.

The two tributes shook hands, but I couldn't take my eyes off him, watching the way he moved, the way his eyes swept around, seeming to evaluate everyone-

"Miss Weaver?" A harsh knock sounded at my door and I yelped, slamming the off button on the remote.

"Miss Weaver, are you ill?" the voice continued.

"N-no," I stammered breathlessly.

_No, I'm not ill..._

"Come to dinner, then." I finally recognized it as Kendon's voice.

I took a moment to steady my breathing before replying, "I'll be there."

Oh god, oh god, oh god...

What.

Was.

_That?_


	5. Cream of the Crop

**Okay! I promise, just this chapter and the next before you get to meet Axelus in person! *swoon!* I had a couple of readers ask me how his name is pronounced. Sorry if that wasn't clear. It sounds like "axx-ell-uss." Yeah? Alright, here's the next chapter :) Listen to:**

**Open - Chevelle**

**Enjoy :)**

**_Chapter Five_  
**

**_Cream of the Crop_**

Chamberlain was predictably stuffing his face when I appeared in the dining car.

I could not begin to describe the delicacies laid out before me. Exotic breads and pastries and stews, fruit I didn't even recognize and sweets beyond imagination.

There was a strawberry and apple tart at the center, which I had my eye on from the beginning.

"Hello, lovely," Spectus grinned, pulling out the chair beside him and offering it to me. I sat down warily, glancing around the table at the familiar and unfamiliar faces.

Kendon was watching Chamberlain eat with amusement, and when the large boy spilled gravy all over the table, he threw a napkin in his face.

"Miss Weaver?" Kendon turned to me. "Aren't you going to eat anything?"

Slightly surprised, I realized my plate was still empty and reached out to take some of the tart.

"So, let's hear it," Kendon said, after allowing me to eat for a moment. "What are your skills? What can you bring to these Games that will give you any more chance of survival? Because the way I see it, things aren't looking to good for either of you."

He was talking to both of us, but he was looking at me. I shoved a bite of tart into my mouth so that I wouldn't have to answer first.

Kendon turned to Chamberlain, "Brute boy-yes, you. Tell me your talents."

Around a mouthful of food, he seemed to shape the word _weightlifting. _

"No." Our mentor shook his head immediately, "No, there are too many of you-you'll have to have something better than that. More unique."

Chamberlain just shrugged.

"What about you, Weaver?" He trained his hard, scrutinizing gaze back on me. "Give me something I can work with."

I mimicked my district parter and bobbed my shoulders, because, in all honesty, I didn't want anyone to know my plan of attack. Secrecy meant a better chance of my brother's survival.

It was strange. Ever since I'd volunteered, it was like my body was only a shell, going through the motions. My mind was elsewhere, I suppose, and nothing-save that District 7 boy-seemed to affect me.

I knew I was facing certain death. There was literally _no way _I could get out of this alive, but strangely, that didn't seem to matter anymore.

All that mattered was saving Carson.

"Cream of the crop we've got here," Kendon mumbled, massaging his forehead.

Spectus clapped him hard on the back, "Have faith man-maybe they'll surprise us."

Probably the smartest thing he'd said all night.

The woman sitting opposite me-presumably our escort's right hand-launched into a conversation about clothes, and then about the Reapings, her burner red hair flicking this way and that as she spoke.

I tuned everyone out...for the most part.

It was when she said, "...something to work with because Creed is so handsome," that I was brought back to the present.

_Creed._

The boy from 7.

I snapped to attention, trying not to look as if I was listening, but following every word.

"But, Destia, love, it's not as if we don't have some fair faces here," and Spectus nodded very indiscreetly at me.

I tried not to flush.

"Oh, I know-but it's always easier when you can play the heartthrob card. Know what I mean? Because-well-just _look at him."_

I was silently agreeing with her when, all of a sudden, words started coming out of my mouth.

"What's his story?"

What felt like a hundred pairs of eyes snapped to me in an instant. I looked up from my half-eaten tart, and_ did_ flush this time.

"Creed, I mean. I saw his Reaping."

Destia recovered first.

"Oh, well-apparently the boy that was Reaped was his sister's lover, or something like that. They say the tribute didn't even permit her to see him before they left for the Capitol."

_Just like me,_ I thought.

But, _oh_ how it was so _obvious!_ His sister! It made perfect sense now. He was protecting his sister's love.

The conversation continued, but I sat back in my chair again, mulling things over. It seemed like only a few minutes later, they were telling Chamberlain and I to go to bed.

"It's been a long day for both of you," Spectus said. "Get some sleep before we arrive."

And my sleep went by too quickly.

I'd never had a comfortable bed to sleep in until this moment. My old bed back in 6 was made from rickety springs and coarse fabric.

But this bed seemed to sink under my weight, billowing up around me like a cloud. I felt like I was laying in a vat of whipped cream-a treat I'd only just tasted at dinner that evening.

And because of this, sleep came too soon-and was gone in what must've been only moments later.

Spectus was hammering at my door, "Wake up, sleepy head! We've arrived! Oh, I can't _wait _until you see it! You'll just simply die!"

_Literally, _I thought to myself, groaning into the feathery pillow.

I tumbled grudgingly out of the bed, crawling over to my pile of discarded clothes and sliding into them like a snake into already shed skin.

My blouse was creased, a big wrinkle lining the front, and when I saw it in the mirror I actually laughed.

But all at once, the sound was too foreign-too misplaced-and I shut my mouth again.

Chamberlain yawned noisily as the whole of the District 6 team paraded down the train corridor, him being flanked by that red-haired woman and Spectus, me by Kendon alone. The others, of whose purposes I had no knowledge, were marching in front.

The window caught my eye.

Oh god.

There it was, in all its shining glory. Tall, golden spires shot into the air for what seemed to be thousands of miles. That streets were lined with fountains spewing clear-and I mean_ crystal clear_-water.

Oh, and the lake at its side was-

My view was abruptly cut off by a tunnel.

"You'll get to see it again, Weaver," Kendon assured me, a knowing smile curving his pierced lip.

I quickly shook my head, "No-I don't care to."

He had probably rolled his eyes.

Spectus glanced at me over his shoulder.

"Ugh! That wrinkle is ghastly!"

I jumped back a little at the high pitch of his voice.

"What am I supposed to tell Tavian, hmm?"

Before I could question him, the sounds of screaming appeared, and next I knew we were under the hundreds of prying eyes of Capitol citizen, crowded like moths to a flame in the train station.

Never had I seen a more bizarre bunch.

Kendon grabbed my shoulder just before we exited, whispering in my ear, "Remember-big smiles."

Oh, yes...

Lots and lots of sunshine.


	6. A Goddamned Forest Fire

**Damn...I wish this story were as popular as Frosted. Don't get me wrong, I ADORE all of the Frosted Fans! It's just-I don't know. I feel really passionate about this story, and it's not getting a lot of attention. Sigh. Oh well-I'll take what I can get :)Those of you who've been supported, you are the BOMBSHELLS! Listen to:**

**The League of Extraordinary Nobodies - El-P**

**Enjoy :)**

**_Chapter Six_  
**

**_A Goddamned Forest Fire_**

"Drop your robe," he said.

"Excuse me?"

_Listen to them, Weaver. They have all the control, here._

Tavian's eyes narrowed, and it was with shaking fingers and my mentor's words that I reached for the hem of my white covering.

My prep team had scraped me raw; not a hair existed on my body other than my eyebrows and the long curls tumbling down my back.

When the robe pooled at my feet, I made the mistake of glancing up and catching my stylist's expression. It was dark, and-dare I say, _hungry?_

Ugh-Capitol filth...

Tavian must've been in his late thirties. He had dark blue hair, slicked back off his forehead, and a rather stocky, unimpressive body. I'd thought at first that he was gay...but it appeared I was wrong.

"You have a perfect body," he remarked before beginning a circuit around me. I felt heat rise further to my cheeks-and I wanted to melt into a puddle on the floor and slide under the door crease.

"These hips-" he smacked one very hard, irritating the already irritated, bare skin, and I yelped.

"Magnificent." He came to stand in front of me again, eyes wandering where they shouldn't. "Your breasts too. Very nice."

I couldn't hold it in. "I'm not a piece of artwork!"

He only smiled at this, "Oh, but you are, Nyxon. And soon, you'll be my masterpiece."

I clamped my mouth shut, remembering that this man was one of my lifelines in these Games. He gets me sponsors-sponsors keep me alive.

And I keep Carson alive.

Simple as that.

Tavian smacked and rubbed his hands together, "Let's get to work, shall we?"

* * *

My stylist was finished with me, though I'd yet to look in a mirror, and now my prep team was back, plastering something dark all over my face.

I'll admit, I was very confused as to what sort of angle Tavian and Jadis were going for here. Warpaint? Everything looked either black or silver.

"You're just going to look stunning!" one of them buzzed, their hands blurring around me.

It felt like hours they continued, forcing me to hold still and sit up straight before slipping me into a skin tight body suit.

I had a feeling Chamberlain would get to wear something looser...

"You're all set!" my prep captain-Kenida, I think it was-announced, practically jumping up and down with excitement.

I muttered a "finally" under my breath.

The three of them helped me off of the table and toward a wall mirror on the right.

And I couldn't help but gasp.

My skin was completely black-and not as in African American, but as in pitch black. All across it were jagged, uneven dashes of silver, traveling around my body horizontally.

My jumpsuit looked very similar apart from the flecks of gold they'd added, my hair dyed completely silver while somehow remaining silky.

And for the longest time, I didn't understand.

But then I moved-and I saw it.

With every glint of light, the dashes seemed to move, the silver creating the most incredible optical illusion. It gave the appearance of lights flashing by at high speed-as if on a train...

Transportation.

As much as I hated to admit, I was impressed with Tavian. Behind that perverted mind was a small ounce of ingenuity, it seemed.

I spun around just for fun and my prep team giggled-yeah, I wish_ I _had the time for giggling. Or even the desire to...

"Does Chamberlain look like this?" I whispered.

"Almost exactly." I turned at the unfamiliar voice.

So this was Jadis, Chamberlain's stylist.

I already envied him. She seemed all the more sane, regardless of her wild chartreuse curls and waxed off eyebrows.

"They've finished just in time," she said. "The parade is in twenty minutes."

"Where's Tavian?" Even though I could care less...

"He's just doing a quick check on Chamberlain. He'll be at the loading area."

Fucking _wonderful._

I couldn't wait to be visually violated by my stylist in public.

"And...Kendon?" I added hopefully.

"He and Spectus will be there, too," she assured me. "Never fear."

I gathered a deep breath, taking one last look at the alien in the mirror. "Let's go, then."

It seemed to take ages to get to the ground floor from the sixth. I'm not sure why. Maybe it was just because I was nervous.

Which I shouldn't have been...

In retrospect, this would be the easiest part of these Games. Why the hell was I even _thinking_ about breaking a sweat?

Tavian and I matched almost completely, as Jadis had said. But I was right-he got to wear something_ a lot_ looser.

"You ready?" Jadis asked when the two of us hesitated as the doors opened. At least we were alike in that prospect.

I nodded first, taking a firm step out of the elevator and endured the sight of the tributes around me.

This was the first time I'd seen many of them.

District 1's tributes looked gaudy as usual, covered from head to foot in diamonds and pearls. But I got the small satisfaction of hearing the two gasp as I passed, staring as the silver on my body reflected off of every surface.

It was incredibly distracting.

District 2 had mud all over themselves-which was somewhat hilarious, if you thought about it. District 3 were all tangled in wires.

I'm not sure what Districts 4 and 5 were reaching for, but they apparently didn't meet the quota.

And then, suddenly, I felt my face flush like mad-and was instantly grateful for all the warpaint.

He was there.

Of course he was there! He was a fucking _tribute!_

But seeing him in person was like being dropped on another planet, and then having to fight for nonexistent oxygen. (Yes, I'd given this a great deal of thought.)

I wanted to murder his stylist for doing this to me.

They'd removed his shirt, revealing every inch of his finely toned, muscular torso, and then, just to piss me off, soaked him in oil that glistened with each movement. His jet black hair was dusted with-could they've been_ embers?_

He wore simple, dark pants, but they were covered in chalky gashes, and on his face, just below his wicked,_ wicked _eyes, was a similar warpaint strategy. But it was only three dark lines, dragging down each cheek.

The only thing on his upper body was a strange entanglement of weeds, which looked to be dead and crumpled.

It was that detail that made the purpose of it all clear to me.

He was a forest fire.

And it was breathtaking.

Add to that, he was staring right at me-burning me with an iron gaze. Why would he look at _me_, of all people? There were much prettier girls in this room-ones with much more obvious and provocative costumes...and quite a few of them were giving him "the eye."

He crossed his arms over his chest, and it made me want to groan because his muscles flexed, the sinews of his forearms defined so elegantly in the dim light.

His eyes were narrowed, studying me.

And then an insect-like woman scurried up to him and began to thwack his arms roughly until he put them down at his sides again, shrieking something about _ruining it all! _before hurrying away again.

The moment her back was turned, he recrossed them.

_Oh, god help me..._


	7. Superior Angles

**Hey guys! So, a trailer is up on Youtube for this story! You should take a look at it! I hope you like it :) The link is on my profile. Listen to:**

**Meet Your Master - Nine Inch Nails (This one is REALLY good.)  
**

**Enjoy :)**

**_Chapter Seven_  
**

**_Superior Angles_**

"It's time," Kendon murmured, flanking me as our team started to head toward the District 6 chariot.

I swallowed thickly, realizing I'd yet to look-and I mean really _look_-at my brother. I'd been too distracted when I walked in to even notice him as one of the District 3s.

Ahead of us, already mounting his chariot shakily, I saw him try to loosen the wires twisted around his small body.

Oh, god-little Carson. So vulnerable.

It just made the game that much sicker...

"Don't dawdle, now," Spectus said lightly, flapping his fingers against the small of my back.

"Stop! Good god man, you'll smear her!" Tavian shouted, not only startling our team, but some outsiders as well.

It appeared Axelus and I were in the same boat-or maybe I just wanted to think that.

_Fuck,_ I was acting so stupid.

Kendon helped me onto the chariot, which was painted like Chamberlain and I, and I trained my eyes on the horses, because the sight of my brother was just too much to bear right now.

I wondered-did he even know I was here with him yet?

He had to, didn't he? He must've seen it.

But then again...

"Hold on tight to the front rail," our mentor warned us. "These horses move faster than you think. I've seen many a tribute fall out in my years."

I squinted suspiciously at him, having the distinct feeling that _he'd_ been one of those tributes.

The big metal gate at the front of the terminal opened, and the roar of the crowd reached us in an instant. My stomach plummeted.

I was fairly certain these sponsors would _not_ take a liking to me.

District 1 rode out, and the roar intensified notably.

I became suddenly aware of the order of the number system, and I felt like throwing up.

1,2,3...4,5...

Ah, fuck...

6, 7...

His chariot was right behind me. He'd be staring at my back the entire time with that intense, stabbing gaze of his.

How was I supposed to focus? Hell, how was I supposed to remember to hold on to the rail?

It appeared that already wasn't working out for me, because when our chariot lurched forward, I nearly lost my footing, arm shooting out to snatch the metal bar just in time.

"What did I say?" Kendon called after me, and I could just picture him rolling his eyes.

The crowd's screams were deafening when we breached the terminal, and I was certain it wasn't District 5, and their godawful...abstract things...

So it must've been us.

Oh, right-moving at such a speed must've made our "train window" effect doubly interesting.

I was sure to keep my eyes straight ahead, ignoring the way Chamberlain waved and cat-called to the audience, like he was some kind of big star.

Well, he wouldn't be once I killed him in the arena.

Woah...where did that thought come from?

I shook it away, focusing rather on making my face deadpan, my eyes bored. I wanted to seem like nothing special.

At least one sponsor was bound to take me on, even if it was only for my appearance.

But I couldn't let vying for sponsors get in the way of my "angle," as I liked to call it. The angle of a silent, innocent girl who was terrified and shy-well that would never work for me.

I mean, considering the reason my mother disowned me.

"_There's evil in your eyes,"_ she'd said.

Well, fuck you, woman-it's this evil that's going to keep your beloved son alive.

But I digress.

I couldn't pull off the innocent thing-I just didn't look like a sweet, kindhearted girl who hugged trees and skipped through flower beds. I looked like a disturbed girl with a past...

...which was what I was...

Therefore, my only option was the "silent and misunderstood" card, which I'd played many times at school back in 6.

I wanted to look like I was contemplating something...

Surely that would frighten _some _of these tributes. The littler ones, at least.

The crowd's eyes followed us for only a few seconds it seemed, before they caught sight of District 7-and I really couldn't blame them for forgetting about us.

Axelus looked like a god.

I heard them chanting his name, and the majority of the female spectators were throwing roses.

Yes, he would outshine us all-which worried me.

Not because I thought I no longer stood a chance, but because it meant he'd survive longer...which meant I'd probably have to kill him.

I could just picture it now.

_I stand before him with a bloody knife, growling and baring my teeth. He settles into a predatory position, crouching and snarling right back at me._

_I go to lunge, take one good look at his beautiful, cobalt eyes...and hesitate._

_He stabs me through the heart. I die. He moves on to kill the final contestant._

_Carson._

Yes, that was a disaster.

I needed the Careers to get him first-unless of course, he _was_ a Career.

He certainly had the potential.

Shit.

This was a goddamn mess.

I once again shook my head at myself, trying to pay attention to what was going on around me.

The chariots were pulling into the square, where President Snow would make his opening speech.

Predictably, Axelus was projected high on every available screen-and that didn't help one bit with my focus.

I was surprised, however. He bore no dazzling smile, as I'd expected, nor was he flexing the muscles that just _begged _to be flaunted.

No, his face was almost blank.

_Almost._

There was a barely there smirk that only just curved up the corner of his mouth as he surveyed the audience.

He did not look bored, as I did, but rather omniscient.

He knew everything there was to know about these Games, every sponsor-every audience member's darkest secret. He knew, and he gazed at them all with a look that both enticed and challenged them.

That _bastard._

How dare he take _my "angle"_ and twist it into something superior to gain favor!

But wait-that was what we were all trying to do, right?

Christ, this boy was messing with my head. And I couldn't have that.

No, I couldn't have that.


	8. Get a Load of This

**Okay, guys-those of you who are in this for the sex, I promise you won't have to wait much longer. Things will progress more quickly than in my other stories, because-well, think about it. They only have one week before the Games. Be prepared... ;) Listen to:**

**The Antidote - St. Vincent **

**Enjoy :)**

**_Chapter Eight_  
**

**_Get a Load of This_**

I remember distinctly, that night was a long one.

We'd eaten dinner quickly with our district team in the massive hotel room they'd provided for us, and then we were corralled into bed with, and I quote, "NO EXCEPTIONS."

My prep team had told me how stunning I'd looked, but really-after seeing some of the other girls, I just didn't believe it anymore.

But who cared, anyway? Maybe the Games were a beauty contest for some, but for me they were about survival.

I lay in bed awake that night for hours, just staring up at the ceiling in the dark.

Accepting eminent death had been simpler the night before, perhaps only from the adrenaline rush I'd been subjected to. But tonight it was eating away at me.

I felt ghost pains all over my body-stabbing, strangling, bleeding out. It made sleep literally impossible.

That was why I looked the way I did come morning.

Spectus actually shrieked when he saw me walking to the table for breakfast.

"My god! You didn't sleep?"

"I did," I lied. "I just had to scrub myself raw to get all that fucking make-up off."

He gasped, "Language!"

"Yes, you really should watch your language, Weaver," Kendon entered the room, reading what looked to be a Capital newspaper and acknowledging me with a tired nod.

I huffed, "I think I've earned the right to swear."

"Maybe, sweetheart, but you won't win any sponsors that way. Swear at Caesar, and you're a dead girl."

A short, plump looking Avox scurried into the room, laying before us a spread of intense Capital breakfast foods. I nodded at her, but she seemed in such a hurry to leave that she didn't respond.

Kendon glanced up from his paper, a look of surprise on his face, and turned to Spectus, "Take a look at this."

He showed him something on one of the inner pages, and our escort's eyes grew wide. He snatched the paper from Kendon a second later.

I rose an eyebrow, "What? What is it?"

Spectus chuckled darkly, "Get a load of this..." Without warning, he flipped the paper around so I could see it.

Two of the inner pages were filled by a single, large picture-or rather, two pictures joined together.

Half was a side of my face from the parade last night, silver dashes, dark skin and all. The picture must've been taken from very close up, because it was a perfect shot. I looked dark and determined.

Part of me wanted to be glad that my "angle" came off appropriately, but the other half of the paper wiped that thought from my mind.

Axelus's face was joined with mine at the crease, his right half with my left. The embers were visible in his hair, and his eyes held a wicked secret nobody knew. His lips curved up in a smirk, warping my pursed lips, dark paint lines running down his cheeks.

He held the power in this photograph.

And it infuriated me.

"What is this?" I breathed.

Spectus shrugged, "Who cares? It's publicity, right?"

I threw down the paper, "Why the _hell_ did they put the two of us together!?"

"Calm down, Weaver," Kendon put his hands up, encouraging me to sit back down. "There's an article about it."

"An _article!?"_

"Shut up and let me read it, woman!" He yanked the paper off the table before I could grab it again.

Chamberlain chose that moment to appear from his bedroom. "Read what?"

"Argh!" My head dropped into my hands.

Spectus shooshed him and our mentor cleared his throat, "Last night's tribute parade was nothing short of mind blowing, and President Snow's address-blah, blah, blah...District 1's costumes cost-blah, blah, blah...erm, oh! Here we go: Two tributes, however, made quite the impression-and they're not from the same district, but neighboring ones. District 6's Nyxon Weaver and District 7's Axelus Creed left startling images in all our head-"

"How the_ fuck-"_

"Shhhh!" Spectus waved his hand irritably at me.

"...during their half hour of screen time. Both directed heated, bloodthirsty gazes at the cameras, no doubt warming up for this year's Games."

"Bullshit!"

Kendon continued over me this time, "The pair are lookers, too. With Creed's steamy edge and Weaver's siren-esk features, one can only hope for a team up in the Arena."

I gasped, my words coming out in a barely discernible splutter, "How-how _dare they!? _Siren-esk! The damned fools!"

"I fail to see what the problem is, here," Kendon set down the paper and folded his hands behind his head.

"The problem,_ Kendon_, is that they're painting me as a fucking _prostitute!"_ I was on my feet again, pointing furiously at the offending article. "_And_ they're acting like we're a "pair!" I've never even met Creed!"

His lips twitched in amusement, and I could see the dastardly idea form behind his eyes. "Oh, but you will..."

"Don't even think about it!"

"I'm you're mentor, Weaver. _I _tell _you_ what to do," Kendon challenged. "And I'm telling you to get to know this boy." He tapped his finger on the side of Creed's face. "It'll be a ball-buster. We'll get more sponsors in a half and hour than some get in the entire Games if they hear that you're talking to each other."

"Oh, we won't be," I assured him with a hiss.

"A-ha...actually, _yes_-you _will,_ Weaver. Unless you want me to convince the Gamemakers to kill you off immediately and focus on protecting Chamberlain."

Well, that was a threat if I ever did hear one.

My district partner seemed to like the idea.

"You forget-if they hear about a relationship between us, Axelus will get sponsors too," I managed to spit out.

"Undoubtedly. But when it comes to the Games, sponsors tend to prefer female tributes."

"Not when there are tributes that look like _him." _But I could tell it was useless. My protests were anything but heeded.

"You'll do as I say," Kendon warned, "or you'll die. Speak to him this morning in Training. And make it good."


	9. Poison Dart

**I know, I know-a lot of updates for one day. What can I say? It's a holiday and I'm inspired. :D Listen to:**

**Fine Again - Seether**

**Enjoy :)**

**_Chapter Nine_  
**

**_Poison Dart_**

The training room was about as daunting as the terminal before the parade-more, even.

Now I could see the eyes, the faces of all the tributes I was supposed to murder, and it made it all real for what seemed like the first time.

I ignored Kendon's command for the first hour we were left to wander about, waiting for the training instructors to arrive. What else was I supposed to do?

I went straight to my brother.

"Carson," I whispered tentatively, and he whirled around to face me, big brown eyes settling on my face. They were red and swollen-he'd probably been crying half the night.

"Nyx?" His voice trembled, and seconds later he'd thrown himself at me, arms constricting in one of those bear hugs I used to love as a child, growing up with him. "I knew you'd come for me! Wh-when can we leave?"

I froze.

So no one had told him?

Those heartless bastards!

His tears were staining my training shirt and we were getting a lot of weird looks from the other tributes-except for Axelus, who was thankfully absent.

I sank down into a crouch before his little body-he was short for his age-and reached up to wipe away his tears with my thumbs.

"Hey, Mulecart...why are you crying?" The childhood nickname only seemed to make him cry harder. And I didn't like this...he was making himself look weaker to the other tributes. "Calm down, bud."

"I want to go home," he sobbed, clutching at me again. "Please take me home!"

"Honey," I sighed, pulling him away from me again so we could speak eye to eye, "did you watch the other Reapings?"

He shook his head, "No..."

I grabbed his small hand, "Well, we're in this together, alright? We can't go home until we play the game like they want us to."

"But-"

"No buts, Carson. I volunteered so I could be here with you, and we're going to get through this. I promise. You _will _see your mommy again."

Notice how I didn't say _our_ mommy.

This seemed to calm him down the slightest bit, but there was horror in his eyes when he looked at me again, "You're in the Games?"

I nodded slowly, trying to seem nonchalant about it. "I'm in the Games."

I couldn't _believe_ no one had told him.

"Alright, listen handsome. Today's a good opportunity for you to learn a few things. Why don't you walk around with me and see some demonstrations? I'll teach you how to throw a spear. Sound good?"

He nodded, trying fiercely to wipe away more of the tears.

"Remember, you've got to stand tall. Head high-do as I do. Walk like I do. You'll be just fine."

He nodded again, this time with more fervor.

"Good," I flashed him a fake, but convincing (I thought) smile. "Let's go."

I held out my hand to him just as a female tribute from one of the Career districts-2, I think-sneered at us. "How sweet. Do you take him to the bathroom too?"

I watched Carson's lip wobble and turned back to her in anger.

"No-I promised just to help you do that, remember?"

There was a tense silence-and then Carson burst out laughing. A few other tributes who had heard my retort laughed with him, and soon the room was staring at us in confusion, trying to understand what exactly was so funny.

As the laughter died down, I whispered in my brother's ear, "Remember-stand tall. Ignore her."

The trainers finally arrived, and just in time too, because it looked like that Career girl was ready to rip my head off. I'd later learn that her name was Helsey-and that she would meet one of the most gruesome deaths in the Games.

Karma, I guess.

A long speech was made about proper training tactics, and how we couldn't attack fellow tributes. All things I'd heard before.

One of the back doors opened noisily just as the speech was ending, and Axelus strode in, comfortably late.

I rolled my eyes.

"Right..." one of the trainers said, eyeing him warily, "on that note, let's begin. Pick a station. It may benefit you to travel in small groups."

"Where do you want to go first?" I asked Carson as the tributes dispersed around the room, the Career-types predictably going for the more lethal weapons.

Axelus, I noticed, went another direction-heading toward the poisonous dart table and taking a seat. The station manager launched into a monologue about toxic needles, and he nodded to look as if he was listening.

"I don't know-something unscary," Carson whispered.

"Not sure that's a word, dork." I scanned the room, but there seemed to be no better alternative. I sighed. Might as well kill two birds with one stone. "Let's go to the darts station."

The trainer looked dumbfounded that more than one tribute had come to see him first.

"Oh, goodness!" he exclaimed. "Tell me, what are you interested in? Lethal? Maiming? Delusional?"

Axelus eyed me curiously, and I felt all hot and sticky under his scrutiny.

"How about aphrodisiacs?" he asked, a smirk manipulating his face, still directed at me.

I scoffed, and Carson looked up from surveying the darts, "What are afrodeesacs?"

God-his mother was such a prude. I remembered her avoiding the topic of sex at all costs back when she was still my parent.

My father had explained it to me during our first week in 6. And it was quick and painless.

Right now, I wished more than anything that Carson just knew Axelus was being gross so we could drop the subject.

"Nothing important," I muttered, glaring at the other tribute. He smiled his perfect smile.

The trainer's brows knit together, "I-uh-I honestly don't think I do. There's never been any need for-"

"He's just being an ass," I cut him off, and Carson gaped at me, causing me to quickly add, "Sorry, bud."

Creed's grin only widened, and he smoothly reached out his hand to me. "Axel."

It wasn't hard to tell this wasn't a friendly gesture. He was plotting my demise behind those blue orbs-and he wasn't trying to hide it.

I eyed his hand for a long while, trying to look as if I didn't want to touch it, when really I was worried I would blush like mad.

Finally, I took it in my seemingly sweaty palm. "Nyxon."


	10. More Like Bludgeoned

**God, I must be insane! I just really want to get to some spicy stuff today :) Know what I mean? ;) Listen to:**

**Boyfriend - Issues (This version is REALLY REALLY GOOD!)**

**Enjoy :)**

**_Chapter Ten_  
**

**_More Like Bludgeoned_**

The training day was rather uneventful-which was strange, considering we were going into the Arena not one week from then. The Games would start at 10:00 sharp, the next Monday morning.

Many of the tributes were easy to figure out from that first day. The Career districts were once again 1, 2, and 4. Chamberlain was in with them, though. I could tell.

The underdogs probably consisted of my brother, Districts 3 and 5 and everything up from 8 after that. Except for one boy from 9. His name was Magnus-and he looked like he had something up his sleeve.

Axel-well, I had no idea what Axel was capable of. He did literally nothing but sit around all day.

I, at least, learned how to make some traps.

Carson was doing fine, so long as he followed in my footsteps. I was careful not to intimidate him by knowing too much about certain things, so we took matters very slowly.

And that was all.

See what I mean by uneventful?

Add to that the fucking_ ball _was the following night. A relatively new thing, I heard. All the tributes were to attend, as well as the wealthiest sponsors. By 7:00 tomorrow night, the dining hall would be transformed into a massive ballroom and crowded with hundreds of guests.

It was the last thing I wanted at the moment.

To dance.

Dance meant celebration, and this was certainly not a celebration.

I glanced around the hall, wondering what it would look like in the next 24 hours. Carson was gorging himself on some sort of meat pie, which was a good thing, I suppose. He could use the extra weight.

I couldn't bring myself to eat anything, it seemed, so I just sat there, staring off into space.

Or, at least I _did, _until Axel came up behind me.

"What the _fuck _is this?!" he roared, slamming down a copy of the Capital newspaper. I jumped, startled, and Carson dropped his fork.

Every pair of eyes in the room shot to us immediately.

I glanced down at the picture of us and grimaced before turning to glare at him, "How the hell should I know? I was as surprised as you are."

"That's bullshit and you know it!" He grabbed me roughly by the arm, but I yanked away, as if burned.

"Don't touch me!" I shouted, getting to my feet. "I had nothing to do with this! I was furious when I found out!"

"Oh? But you didn't bother to tell me, did you? No-no, that part just slipped your mind, didn't it?" He was right in my face, daring me to react.

"News flash: I don't give a flying fuck about you, 7!" I ignored my brother's gasp. "We're here for one reason-and you know what it is."

"Damn you, bitch-" he growled. "I _know_ it was you. God, the way you've been looking at me. It's fucking pathetic! Of course it was your idea! You just wanted your shining moment by my side!"

"You son of a-"

"I want _nothing _to do with you in that arena, Weaver," he seethed. "If I so much as hear the fucking word "alliance," I'll tear you apart."

"Oh, whatever shall I do?" I mocked, fluttering my eyelashes. "Get a goddamn grip, asshole. Not every girl in this world wants you!"

He scoffed, "As if _anyone _could _ever _want you-you stupid, manipulative little cunt!"

A collective gasp sounded around the room-but I only heard half of it.

The other half was drowned out by the sound of my fist cracking against his jaw.

There were actually some yelps from female escorts and stylists.

Axel staggered into the table, breaking some glasses and upsetting a bowl of punch. He clutched his jaw tightly, eyes trained on me with so much rage-so much hate. But there was also something else there.

Something I couldn't quite figure out.

Carson swallowed, staring up at me, "What's a-"

"_Don't-"_ I bellowed, "ask me what it means! We're leaving."

I moved swiftly around the table, grabbed my brother's wrist and towed him out of the dining hall, leaving the gawking audience behind.

I was fuming so violently that I pressed every button in the elevator, pacing angrily back and forth inside the car while Carson watched, aghast.

"Is it really that bad?" he whispered, presumably trying not to upset me further.

"Yes-that bad," I replied in a clipped tone.

Finally, after five stops, we arrived on my floor and I charged down the hallway to my room, keeping tight hold of Carson's hand all the way.

When I burst into the foyer, Kendon looked up from his paper. "How'd it go with 7? Your brother's not supposed to be up here, by the way."

"He's staying!" I hissed, dragging him through the room.

"Suit yourself."

Not twenty seconds later, a harsh pounding sounded on the front door.

"MacMillan!" an angry voice shouted from the other side. "Open the god damn door!"

Kendon sighed, setting down the paper and heading toward entrance, "This ought to be fun."

The door opened and a man I didn't recognize strode in, unauthorized. He took one glance at me, glared heavily and pointed, _"YOU."_

"Yes, she's very pretty, isn't she?" Kendon mocked.

"Don't play games with me! She assaulted my tribute!"

My mentor raised an eyebrow. "Did she now? Well, that's natural. Cat fights are bound to happen now and again-"

"I'm not talking about the _girl."_

Kendon's light expression darkened, and he turned his gaze on me, "She hit Creed?"

"_Bludgeoned_ is more the word I'm looking for!" the man raved.

"Oh, please-he's a big boy. He can take a punch," I spat.

"I want her OUT OF THESE GAMES!"

"Get out, Bennet. I'll speak to her," Kendon said calmly, though his eyes were anything but.

"Like hell you will! You'll sweet talk her!"

"I assure you," he ground out, "I won't."

And I suddenly didn't want to be left alone with him.

But for safety reasons, as the furious man stormed out of the room, I whispered to Carson, "Go to my room, honey. My mentor and I have to _talk."_


	11. Blame it on the Alcohol: Part One

**Okay, next chapter packs all the heat, but this one's got a little of it. CAUTION: TEEN DRINKING. Listen to:**

**Champagne - Cavo**

**Enjoy :)**

**_Chapter Eleven ~ Part One_  
**

**_Blame it on the Alcohol_**

I had never been slapped by a man before.

It was shocking, to say the least-and Kendon even seemed to regret it. But what's done is done, right?

I would probably hate him for the rest of my short life.

That wasn't all he did, either. He read me the Riot Act, yelling about how stupid I was and how this was all I had-these meager impressions in the Capital before the Games.

And because I was so angry, I didn't even bother telling him what Axel had called me. He didn't deserve to know. It would make it seem like I'd confided in him.

And, no...I would never do that.

When he finished, staring at me, half-crazed, I dipped into a low bow and turned away, heading to my room for Carson.

He saw the handprint on my face.

We cried in each other's arms that night-and I vowed it was the last time I'd ever cry again.

Tuesday morning came and went, like a couple of trees before a speeding car's window. By noon, my prep team was upon me, followed by Tavian-who was one of the last people I wanted to see, but the list was steadily growing.

They'd shooed my brother from the room, telling him to go back to his floor to get ready.

Oh, right.

That ball.

Perfect. Just perfect. I would've loved nothing more than to dunk my head in a bucket of ice water and leave it there for all eternity.

But no, no...my prep team wouldn't allow it. They were at me for_ hours,_ and I mean this literally, combing my hair, painting my nails, waxing my legs for god knows what reason...

And part of me wanted to tell them the truth-that I wasn't going-just to see their faces.

But I wasn't nearly that cruel. I let them have their fun with me and, remarkably, didn't voice one complaint the entire time. Inwardly, of course, I had about a million.

_Stop pulling so hard._

_God, you ripped it all off __ages__ ago!_

_Who the fuck is even going to see this part of my body?!_

But-such is life.

When they were finished, it was about 6:30 in the evening, and I was yawning.

I really should've told them this was all for not. Maybe I could've gotten a few more hours of sleep.

But, I suppose...the satisfaction I got from my reflection made it at least a little bit worth it.

My dark hair was curled loosely, as if natural, and tumbling gracefully down my back. They'd accented my eyes with green hues, but just a touch. My lips were glossed in something dark-almost bruised-looking...and I adored it.

As for my dress, well...

Let's just say it was my style.

It was platinum, shining in the room's lamplight, and the bodice went from chest to mid thigh. It was pleated in a diamond pattern, cross-stitched for a sleek, modern look. There were no sleeves, save a black feathered strap, like a boa, that crossed over my right shoulder, and the skirt was a shiny as a silver coin, flowing to the floor.

Alright, so maybe a small part of me wanted to go now, just to see who I could impress-

N_o!_ I wouldn't let my guard down! I had made my decision hours ago!

But the dress was beautiful. Simple as that.

"You look stunning!" one of my team cried for the umpteenth time.

"Thank you," I whispered.

"Well, you better get going! You don't want to be late!"

They giggled and smiled and winked as they pushed me out the door, and I tried to act equally enthused-but the moment I was out of sight, I ripped off the silver stilettos.

Women killers!

The glass elevator was lit only by the Capital's lights as I traveled to the only place I was certain I'd be safe.

Well, at least-_partly_ certain.

The roof.

Because of that special, anti-suicide technology they'd placed on it, they didn't bother locking the door. Hell, it was even ajar-as if daring a tribute to try it.

I realized too late that that wasn't why it was open.

As I swept carelessly out the door and onto the roof, I found my enemy, seated on the ledge overlooking the city, surrounded by seven or eight sinister looking bottles. He too was dressed in ball attire, a nice black tux with an even darker undershirt and slacks. But the top four buttons of his shirt were undone, flashing that perfect, tan chest once more.

_Damn it all to hell!_

Could I never escape him?

Axel glanced up at me, and I could tell by his eyes that he wasn't quite drunk yet-just a little tipsy.

I clenched my hand into a fist at my side and turned swiftly to leave.

"Nyxon..." he singsonged. I froze at the door-but I know now that I should've just gone through it.

"I won't call you a cunt again, if that's what you're afraid of," he said, tossing back another shot of whatever it was he was drinking.

I whirled around, glaring, "You just did."

He rose a brow, "Did I? Sorry, love. Old habits die hard."

"Oh?" I stalked toward him, hands on my hips, "And I suppose you're just in the _habit _of calling women the most astoundingly cruel word in the English dictionary?"

He glanced up at me again, smirking this time. "Nah-just you."

I gasped, at a loss for words but trying to voice my incredulity nonetheless. "You-I-you-"

"Sit down," he coaxed. "Have a drink with me."

"As tempting as the offer is..."

"Don't bullshit me, Weaver. We both know you could use a few drops," and he shook the bottle tantalizingly just for good measure.

I hesitated, looking over my shoulder at the door.

But he was right.

I longed for something to distract me this evening.

And, I don't know-maybe a small part of me also wanted to spite Kendon, the bastard.

One way or another, I ended up collapsing next to him and taking a bottle of Capital rum from the inventory before us.

"Where the hell did you get all this?" I whispered, taking my first sip. It was deliciously strong. Instantly, I knocked back another.

"The Gamemakers' private liquor cabinet," he answered easily, leaning back against the wall.

I gaped at him, nearly spitting out the alcohol.

"No...no, no, no...you _didn't." _

"I promise you, sweetheart," he nodded, eyes growing blearier by the second.

"You couldn't _possibly_ have-"

"I swear on the loss of my virginity to-fuck, what was her name? Liza...Lisa...Gertrude? Hell, I don't fucking remember." He shrugged, taking a generous taste of a new bottle of Vodka.

I couldn't help it.

I laughed.

He gazed sideways at me suddenly, and in an instant, I was entranced by his eyes.

Our stare seemed to last several minutes, but maybe it was only half a second. Then he said, "Cheers," and raised his bottle.

I clunked mine against it and drank.

I drank and drank and drank.

_We_ drank.

We drank to the point of deranged laughter and stupid stories.

We drank past that.

We drank until he got clumsily to his feet, turning around unsteadily and holding out his hand, "Dance with me."

Okay-we were beyond drunk...because I took his hand.

Starting off with a sort of absurd waltz, we paraded around the roof, cackling and tripping and falling over several times. He stepped on my dress and I stepped on his shoes.

Somewhere during our attempt at a tango-or was it a salsa?-he leaned down and whispered in my ear. At the time, I didn't hear him.

But I remembered it in the morning.

"You look beautiful tonight."

We laughed more fiercely when he dipped me, and I grew dizzier with every movement.

Then he said, "What do you say? Shall we take this little party downstairs? Show them how it's done?"

I hummed my assent against his shoulder, shortly before shouting, "Race you!" and taking off.

God, we were like five-year-olds.

It felt like we were sprinting at an impossible, awesome speed, but I bet, from a third party's perspective, we were actually ramming into walls and falling all over ourselves.

He caught me about halfway to the ballroom, crowding me into the elevator and pressing me against the back wall.

He would probably say that our first true connection happened on the dance floor about ten minutes later, but I knew the truth.

It had been right then, as we'd stood so close together, unmoving, unspeaking-just waiting for the car to arrive on the ground floor.

His eyes never left mine.


	12. Blame it on the Alcohol: Part Two

**Alright, CAUTION: SEXUAL CONTENT (Don't get TOO excited.) Listen to:**

**The Line Begins to Blur - Nine Inch Nails (OKAY THIS IS SUPER IMPORTANT! THIS IS THE SONG THEY ARE DANCING TO IN THE CHAPTER! I REALLY MUST INSIST THAT YOU LISTEN! YOU'LL MISS OUT ON THE SEXINESS IF YOU DON'T!)**

**Enjoy :)**

**_Chapter Eleven ~ Part Two_  
**

**_Blame it on the Alcohol_**

Everyone stared. How could they possibly not? We'd burst in so loudly, laughing and swaying on our feet, that we'd upset their dance. Axel was clutching my hand tightly, pulling me to the center of the room.

Carson looked absolutely flabbergasted at our intimate connection. After all, everyone had seen me punch him.

Which reminds me-the bruise on his face. I vaguely remember seeing it that night, but it was faint, as if he'd covered it with something.

The Capital citizens gaped at us as we took control of the room with our presence. The soft, innocent music in the background continued to play, but no one started dancing again.

"Come on!" Axel called, spinning me in a quick circle. "Play something heavier!"

There was a long hesitation-and then the music stopped.

My hand started to tremble in his. Would they punish us? Torture us, even?

The alcohol was started to wear off, worry setting in.

But then a dark, sultry tune flooded from wherever the music originated, and Axel turned to me with a wicked grin.

He drew me slowly, _ever so_ slowly, against his chest as the_ thrum, thrum, thrum_ of the music vibrated through us. His long, calloused fingers slipped down my bare arms before skipping off to graze my hips.

And I looked up and caught his stare.

A man had never looked at me this way until now. Never bore such a deep, wanton emotion in his eyes. It made me suck in a sharp breath.

"Dance with me again?" he whispered, but this time the words were not humorous. No, he had _breathed _them, sensually, against my skin.

I could only bring myself to give the slightest of nods. I was becoming unhinged again, like the first night I saw him on the train.

"Thank god," he hissed against my cheek, and then, without giving me a chance to react, yanked me close and pressed our hips together.

I gasped, eyes growing wild and-

_Flash!_

A camera clicked from somewhere in the crowd, and my senses came swimming back to me.

I tried to pull away.

"Axel..." I warned when he didn't let me go, "they'll see." And I risked a glance in his eyes again.

The clear sheen was gone. He was no longer drunk.

Neither of us were.

His nose brushed against my temple as he nestled his lips to my ear and whispered so quietly, so deliberately, _"Fuck them."_

And then he did something that broke my resolve.

He nibbled at my earlobe...

...and dragged it down with his teeth.

I shuddered, suddenly breathless, and made up my mind that this night was for me-for _us_...that we would damn well enjoy it.

So I threw my arms around his neck and moved my hips with his, if only the slightest bit.

_"Is there somebody on top of me?" _the singer purred.

Axel sighed, warm breath blazing over my skin, and finally succumbed to the low, pounding beat.

He ground against me tentatively at first, as if savoring every second, and I allowed myself to melt into the heat of his body.

_"I don't know, I don't know..."_

When he felt me relax, he ground a little harder-and the friction was delicious.

I became suddenly hyper-aware...

Of his breaths coming in short, ragged pants...

Of the hardness I felt pressing against my stomach...

Of the molten liquid pooling in my underwear...

Oh god-what was he doing to me? This was too soon! Much too soon!

_Oh_, but _so wonderful._

_"Isn't anybody stopping me?"_

I gripped the lapels of his jacket and forced it off his shoulders. Licking his lips, his fingers dug deeper into my hips, and he suddenly scraped us together in a way that made me moan softly in his ear.

My fingers trailed down from his neck to the front of his shirt, slipping into the unbuttoned section to feel him.

_"I don't know, I don't know..."_

He was so _smooth..._and his heartbeat was like an erotic drum, pulsing against my palm.

I sensed the other guests crowding back around us, beginning to dance again. A few of them were actually cheering us on...

A wolfish smile appeared on Axel's face, and without warning, he took hold of my thigh and yanked it up around his hip, dipping my upper half back to hang before him.

My curls brushed the marble floor as he snaked a heavy hand up my ribcage and between my breasts, splaying me out for all to see.

Some of the girls in the crowd actually whimpered.

Seconds later, he flung me back up, our faces inches apart, and stopped our movement altogether as the music started to climb toward a massive crescendo.

I waited.

I waited and waited and waited for him to do something.

But his lips just got closer, a millimeter a minute, it felt like.

_"I'm trying to hold my breath..."_

And then, just as his mouth ghosted over mine, he spun me around, pressing my hind against him so that I could feel his firm erection.

I groaned loudly, and the crowd gasped.

They must've finally realized this was more than just a dance.

_"I don't know, I don't know..."_

Our hips gyrated together, grinding in circles to the beat as we swayed in such an erotic fashion it made my head spin. With every pound of the drum, his hands moved higher up my body, striving for my breasts but never quite seeming to make it.

His lips danced across the nape of my neck with a longing before skating a burning path to the curve of my naked shoulder.

Then he spun me away again, before I was satisfied, and I almost collapsed from sexual dizziness.

I turned to face him, the two of us standing about three yards apart, flustered.

_"Just how far down can I go?"_

He slowly rolled up the sleeves of his black dress shirt.

The crowd was practically panting for us to continue now, but the few fellow tributes I could spot were staring daggers.

Axel approached like a predator-and I should've known...

He could always be counted on to do something unexpected.

Sinking to his knees before me, he grabbed at the backs of my thighs and drew me up against him, his mouth mere inches away from the apex of my legs.

Color flooded to my already flushed cheeks.

I could hear the audience scream their assent, cameras flashing at every turn, when he pressed his lips to my abdomen, one arm curled around the small of my back to hold me to him.

I threw my head back and moaned.

Damn propriety.

Damn it all.

_"I don't know...I don't know...I don't know..."_

The song ended-and all I could think was _Too soon. Much too soon._

Dazed and panting, I collapsed in front of him and he wrapped both arms around me, still holding me slightly above him so that he had to look up.

He whispered huskily, "Come with me."

...and I was wrecked.


End file.
